Breakfast at Tiffanys-17
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Late oernoon, while waiting for a Fifth Avenue bus, I noticed a taxi stopacross the street to let out a girl who ran up the steps of the Forty-sed Streetpublic library. She was through the doors before I reized her, which ardonable, for Holly and libraries were not an easy association to make. I letcuriosity guide me between the lions, debating on the way whether I should admitfollowing her or pretend ce. In the end I did her, but cealed myselfsome tables away from her in the general reading room, where she sat behind herdark glasses and a fortress of literature shed gathered at the desk. She sped fromone book to the , itently lingering on a page, always with a frown, as if itwere printed upside down. She had a pencil poised above paper -- nothing seemedto catch her fancy, still now and then, as though for the hell of it, she made laboriousscribblings. Watg her, I remembered a girl Id known in school, a grind, MildredGrossman. Mildred: with her moist hair and greasy spectacles, her stained fihat dissected frogs and carried coffee to picket lines, her flat eyes that only turoward the stars to estimate their chemical tonnage. Earth and air could not be moreopposite than Mildred an<big></big>d Holly, yet in my head they acquired a Siamese twinship,and the thread of thought that had sewogether ran like this: the averagepersonality reshapes frequently, every few years even our bodies undergo aplete overhaul -- desirable or not, it is a natural thing that we should ge. Allright, here were two people who never would. That is what Mildred Grossman had inon with Holly Golightly. They would never ge because theyd been giventheir character too soon; which, like sudden riches, leads to a lack of proportion: theone had splurged herself into a top-heavy realist, the other a lopsided romantic. Iimagihem in a restaurant of the future, Mildred still studying the menu for itsnutritional values, Holly still gluttonous for everything on it. It would never bedifferent. They would walk through life and out of it with the same determiepthat took small notice of those cliffs at the left. Such profound observations made mefet where I was; I came to, startled to find myself in the gloom of the library, andsurprised all ain to see Holly there. It was after seven, she was fresheningher lipstid perking up her appearance from what she deemed correct for alibrary to what, by adding a bit of scarf, some earrings, she sidered suitable forthe y. When shed left, I wandered over to the table where her booksremaihey were what I had wao see. South by Thunderbird. Byways ofBrazil. The Political Mind of Latin America. And so<cite></cite> forth.On Christmas Eve she and Mag gave a party. Holly asked me to e early arim the tree. Im still not sure how they maneuvered that tree into theapartment. The top branches were crushed against the ceiling, the lower ones spreadwall-to-wall; altogether it was not uhe yuletide giant we see in RockefellerPlaza. Moreover, it would have taken a Rockefeller to decorate it, for it soaked upbaubles and tinsel like melting snow. Holly suggested she run out to Woolworths andsteal some balloons; she did: and they turhe tree into a fairly goo<q>?</q>d show. Wemade a toast to our work, and Holly said: "Look in the bedroom. Theres a presentfor you."
I had one for her, too: a small package in my pocket that felt even smaller when Isaw, square on the bed and ed with a red ribbon, the beautiful bird cage. "But,Holly! Its dreadful!"
"I couldnt agree more; but I thought you wa."
"The mohree hundred and fifty dollars!"
She shrugged. "A few extra trips to the powder room. Promise me, though.
Promise youll never put a living thing in it."
I started to kiss her, but she held out her hand "Gimme," she said, tapping thebulge in my pocket.
"Im afraid it isnt much," and it wasnt: a St. Christophers medal. But at least itcame from Tiffanys. Holly was not a girl who could keep anything, and surely bynow she has lost that medal, left it in a suitcase or some hotel drawer. But the birdcage is still mine. Ive lugged it to New Orleans, Nantucket, all over Europe, Morocco,the West Indies. Yet I seldom remember that it was Holly who gave it to me,because at one point I chose tet: we had a big falling-out, and among theobjects rotating in the eye of our hurrie were the bird cage and O.J. Berman andmy story, a copy of which Id given Holly when it appeared in the uy review.
Sometime in February, Holly had gone on a wirip with Rusty, Mag and JoséYbarra-Jaegar. Our altercation happened soon after she returned. She was brown asiodine, her hair was sun-bleached to a ghost-color, shed had a wonderful time:"Well, first of all we were in Key West, and Rusty got mad at some sailors, or viceversa, anyway hell have to wear a spine brace the rest of his life. Dearest Magended up in the hospital, too. First-degree sunburn. Disgusting: all blisters andcitronella. We couldnt stand the smell of her. So José and I left them in the hospitalao Havana. He says wait till I see Rio; but as far as Im ed Havana take my money right now. We had an irresistible guide, most of him Negro andthe rest of him ese, and while I dont go much for one or the other, thebination was fairly riveting: so I let him play kneesie uhe table, becausefrankly I didnt find him at all banal; but then one night he took us to a blue movie,and what do you suppose? There he was on the s. Of course whe backto Key West, Mag ositive Id spent <samp>..</samp>the whole time sleeping with José. So wasRusty: but he doesnt care about that, he simply wants to hear the details. Actually,things were pretty teil I had a heart-to-heart with Mag."
We were in the front room, where, though it was now nearly March, the enormousChristmas tree, turned brown and stless, its balloons shriveled as an old cowsdugs, still occupied most of the space. A reizable piece of furniture had beeo the room: an army cot; and Holly, trying to preserve her tropic look, rawled on it under a sun lamp.
"And you vinced her?"
"That I hadnt slept with José? God, yes. I simply told -- but you know: made itsound like an agonized fession -- simply told her I was a dyke."
"She couldnt have believed that."
"The hell she didnt. Why do you think she went out and bought this army cot?
Leave it to me: Im always top banana in the shock department. Be a darling,darling, rub some oil on my back." While I erf this service, she said:"O.J. Bermans in town, and listen, I gave him your story in the magazine. He wasquite impressed. He thinks maybe youre worth helping. But he says youre on thewrong traegroes and children: who cares?"
"Not Mr. Berman, I gather."
"Well, I agree with him. I read that story twice. Brats and niggers. Tremblingleaves. Description. It doesnt mean anything."
My hand, smoothing oil on her skin, seemed to have a temper of its own: ityearo raise itself and e down on her buttocks. "Give me an example," I saidquietly. "Of something that means something. In your opinion."
"Wutheris," she said, without hesitation.
The urge in my hand was growing beyond trol. "But thats unreasonable.
Youre talking about a work of genius."
"It was, wasnt it? My wild sweet Cathy. God, I cried buckets. I saw it ten times."
I said, "Oh" with reizable relief, "oh" with a shameful, rising iion, "themovie."
Her muscles hardehe touch of her was like stone warmed by the sun.
"Everybody has to feel superior to somebody," she said. "But its ary topresent a little proof before you take the privilege."
"I dont pare myself to you. Or, Berman. Therefore I t feel superior. Wewant different things."
"Dont you want to make money?"
"I havent plahat far."
"Thats how your stories sound. As though youd written them without knowingthe end. Well, Ill tell you: I youd better make money. You have an expensiveimagination. Not many people are going to buy you bird cages."
"Sorry."
"You will be if you hit me. You wao a minute ago: I could feel it in yourhand; and you want to now."
I did, terribly; my hand, my heart was shaking as I recapped the bottle of oil. "Ohno, I would that. Im only so<cite>?９9lib.</cite>rry you wasted your money on me: RustyTrawler is too hard a way of earning it."
She sat up on the army cot, her face, her naked breasts coldly blue in the sunlamplight. "It should take you about four seds to walk from here to the door. Illgive you two."
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